Bound by Blood
by Dutchess of Spades
Summary: In a world where werewolves are the superior beings and humans are enslaved, Stiles has spent most of his life raised by the Hunters, a resistance group believed to have been obliterated years Sent on a dangerous mission that finds himself captured and at the mercy of werewolves Stiles finds himself sold to Talia Hale, the Alpha Queen herself on behalf of her son Derek


**Author's Note: **_Hello! To some who think this looks familiar, well it is. I posted it on Archive of Our Own, not too long ago. But I ended up unfortunately deleting my account and decided to move all my sterek stories to fanfiction. Which means that if any of you read Not Quite Mary Poppins back on AoOO as well, depending on what I decide I might upload the original (not the one I planned on rewriting) on here. It will be the same but with some aspects that I didn't like rewritten. But anyways, to those who have never heard of this story or read it, I hope you'll enjoy the first. It's the first time I've ever posted a teen wolf fanfic on this site. Enjoy!_

**P.S. **_This story has been inspired by any dystopian story I've read. Ranging from the Hunger Games, to Divergent, to even Delirium. _

**Warnings: **_slavery, dystopian au, slash, sterek, scisaac (sorry scallison fans), violence, sexual content, gore, language, prejudice behavior_

* * *

_**Slave Regulations**_

1. no returns

2. must wear collars at all times

3. must be branded by master

4. must show respect to master; if sign of disrespect allowed to beat them

5. raping is forbidden

6. are pets, treat them like one (note: they are not your friends)

7. the most important rule of all, falling in love with a slave is strictly forbidden. (punishable by death)

8. all slaves must be at least seventeen

9. must sign contract that binds them with their master

10. all werewolves must have a slave by the age of 25

11. werewolves can have up to 3 slaves (each), the royal bloodline can have up to 6 (each)

_**Note: if rules #4, 5, and 7 are broken you'll be punished accordingly.  
Either by imprisonment or by death.**_

* * *

**Stiles**

"_The itsy bitsy spider climbed up the water spout. Down came the rain and washed the spider –" _

"Will you shut it already?" A voice bellows out, banging on the door with a loud thud.

Picking at the wall, Stiles barely flinches. He turns his head to the side, staring at the guard with unflinching brown eyes before turning his attention back to the wall.

"_The itsy bitsy spider,"_ Stiles starts up again, staring with odd wonder at the spider crawling up its web. For a brief second Stiles finds himself jealous of the spider, and it's freedom to do whatever the fuck it wants to do. He continues to ignore the insistent banging. _"Climbed up the water spout. Down came the rain and washed the spider out. Out came the sun -" _

He never does get to finish his song, which is a shame really, not after the guard enters his cell. His set of keys clanging loudly against one another. And really, this guy clearly has some anger management issues as he pummels Stiles to the floor and proceeds to beat him bloody. Or at least tries to.

"I told you to shut up," the guard spits out, annoyed. His face practically red.

The only thing Stiles can do is struggle against his grasp, ignoring the searing pain beginning to flow throughout his body. Once the beating stops, the guard doesn't move an inch and instead glares down at him with such contempt.

Stiles has the urge to scoff. But instead he spits out the blood, watching as it splatters onto the stone floor before wiping the corner of his mouth. He then looks up at the guard, and this time it's his turn to glare.

"That all you got, _traitor_," Stiles spits out, relishing with grim satisfaction when the guard just blinks at him for a second, caught off guard. No, the pun was not intended thank you very much.

Stiles watches, ignoring the insistent pounding in his chest and the voice inside his head that's telling him to just let it go. That there's no need to pick a fight no matter how much this guard deserves it but Stiles being Stiles, he can't help himself. So the next words are out of his mouth before he can stop them,

"Why are you doing this? Did they offer you a huge chunk of money? Or," Stiles stops, his lips now twitching into that of a smirk. He doesn't waver, even when he notices the guard clutching the stick strapped to his waist, a weapon made to beat all humans into submission. Instead he continues, "Are you fucking –"

The bat swings towards him, but this time Stiles is ready. The chains around his wrist unclasp and clink onto the stone ground. One of his hands come up to block the bat before it has the chance to hit his skull.

Jesus, this guy's going for the kill. He ignores the dull pain cursing through his body as he stands up, hand still holding on tightly to the bat. He doesn't give the guard time to react until he's throwing the bat to the side, and wrapping his arms around the guard's neck.

To kill or not to kill, that is the question.

He knows this is not part of the plan, not only that but it could compromise everything he's done to get here but this guy was really starting to piss him the fuck off. Not to mention this guy stands for everything he's against, a low ranking human signing himself to the devil, working for the werewolves who live to capture and enslave humans like them.

The guard struggles against his grasp, flailing and scratching his fingers against Stiles arms.

The cell door suddenly slides open, startling them both. And for a minute Stiles grasp on the guard loosens. He then finds himself tumbling to the ground, twitching. He has to resist the urge to grab onto the collar clasped around his neck.

He can hear the guard coughing and wheezing, trying to catch his breath. He then stares up to see the newcomer. Blond hair. Stubble. Dressed in a designer suit as if he were made of money, staring at him with a cocksure attitude. Peter Hale.

Stiles tries to open his mouth, to speak but no words come out.

"Oh, thank god you're here. He just came out of nowhere, and attacked me. I was trying to defend myself but –"

"Quiet!" Peter commands. The guard's mouth snaps shut.

The twitching finally stops much to Stiles's relief. But the dull pain is still there. Peter stares at him, eyeing the bruise that's no doubt forming on his left eye. His jaw twitches. He averts his attention from Stiles, his eyes now on the currently cowering guard in the corner.

"Did you do this?" Peter demands, his hand gesturing to the bruise.

When the guard doesn't respond Peter repeats,

"Did you do this?"

"I-I-" The guard stutters.

"A simple answer will suffice. Yes or no?"

"Yes, but I was only –" he doesn't get the rest of the sentence out before he's being slammed up against the wall. A whimper escapes past the guard's lips. Stiles doesn't have to see to know that Peter's eyes have flashed red.

"What have I told you about putting your hands on the merchandise?" Peter inquires in a soft, deadly voice. "They only end up being undamaged goods. And nobody in their right minds would want undamaged goods. Do you understand what I mean?"

The guard just whimpers.

"Do. You. Understand. What. I. Mean?" Peter demands, enunciating every word.

The guard gives him a frantic nod.

"Good," Peter says slowly, his claws now extended. Lying limp on the floor, Stiles watches as Peter rubs a claw finger seductively down the guard's cheek. "You know what has to be done now don't you?"

The guard's eyes widen.

"P-p-please don't do this. D-don't do this. I-it was a m-mistake," the guard whimpers, pleading for his life.

"And I'm sure it was," Peter says. "But insubordination can't go unpunished."

He doesn't give the man time to react before he's plunging his hands into the guard's chest. Hatred coils in the pit of Stiles's stomach as he watches the guard slide down the wall, his eyes staring unseeingly into thin air.

Peter takes out a handkerchief from the breast pocket of his suit before wiping his bloody hand with it. His claws retract.

"That wasn't nice," Stiles says, this time trying to sit up.

"Didn't know you cared," Peter says, arching an eyebrow. He then outstretches his hand, but Stiles ignores it as he moves to stand up. He tries steadying himself, trying not to trip over the chains clasped around his ankles.

"I don't," Stiles grunts.

Peter doesn't say anything as he suddenly bends down, Stiles tries not to flinch. It takes him a few seconds to realize what Peter's trying to do. Suddenly the chains locked around his ankle unsnap, clanging onto the cement stone.

Peter then stands up, brushing invisible dirt off of his suit.

"What? No thank you," Peter drawls. Stiles has to stop himself from gagging. Instead he grunts.

Peter just smirks.

"I trust you won't try anything the moment we leave these cells."

"I'm not an idiot," Stiles scoffs. _Not really anyways. _

"Good, now follow me."

Peter then turns on his heels, walking out of the cell. Stiles follows closely behind, purposely ignoring the limp body on the floor and envisioning a thousand ways to crack Peter Hale's skull open.

"I don't think we've had the actual pleasure of meeting, Stiles is it? My name's –"

"I know who you are," Stiles says stiffly, clasping his hands together behind his back. "The question is, why are you escorting me to the arena as opposed to having one of your goonies do it for you? Should I be flattered that you decided to come instead?"

Peter just smiles, amused. What Stiles wouldn't do to smack that smug, self important look off the man's face.

"You caught my interest. Not many people do that," Peter finally says, Stiles tries not flinch at the insistent banging coming from each of the cells they pass or at the stench of piss making its way towards his nose. Stiles turns to look at Peter who doesn't seem the least bit bothered by the sound or the smell giving the fact that the five senses for werewolves are heightened two billion times more than a humans.

"Mister," a gruff voice says. Peter suddenly halts, and the only thing for Stiles to do is to follow suit. He follows Peter's line of vision to one of the cell doors. A face appears. Stiles tries not to grimace as he takes in the man's dirty f ace, the long greasy hair that brushes the man's shoulders and the yellow teeth. "You're looking mighty flashy. Think you can help a prisoner out. I promise I can make it worth your while."

The man then flashes a smile. Stiles tries not to gag. Stiles notices Peter's lips twist into that of a smile. The man guarding the cell moves to intercept but Peter holds out a hand for him to stop. The guard's eyes widen giving Peter a stiff bow before going back to his post.

"And what may I ask, can you offer me?" Peter asks, walking up to the cell. The prisoner's grin widens. His eyes then flicker down to Peter's crotch.

_Ugh, _Stiles thinks, already feeling the bile rise up in his throat. He's about ready to puke, the awful stench making it impossible for him to open his mouth without gagging.

"Give me a nice warm shower and – ahhh," the prisoner gasps, clawing at Peter's arms.

"Thanks but no thanks," Peter murmurs, his hand squeezing the man's neck and his eyes flashing red. Suddenly the stench of piss hits Stiles's nostrils, this time stronger. And for the first time Peter finally reacts to the smell.

"Oh for God sakes," Peter loosens his hand on the man before dropping him onto the ground. Through the insistent banging Stiles hears the prisoner moan.

"Disgusting," Peter says. He then lifts his eyes, the red bleeding into green. "Let's go. They're waiting."

Stiles doesn't have to ask who _they _are. The moment they leave the cell tower, stepping outside into the cool night air. Stiles shivers.

A sleek black car drives up, stopping in front of them. The car doors open, revealing an attractive blond woman and a tall, muscular dark skinned man.

"Cuff and bag him," Peter instructs, nodding his head in Stiles's direction. Stiles doesn't say anything, trying to ease his heartbeat. They can smell fear miles away. If there's one thing Stiles has learned it's, never let your enemies know you fear them. But then again humans fearing werewolves isn't exactly unheard of.

Unclasping his hands from behind his back he outstretches them, watching as the blond woman hooks the chains onto his wrist. And just as the bag goes around his head the last thing he sees before everything goes dark is the blond woman winking at him.

Stiles tries not to flinch when he suddenly feels a hand on his shoulder.

"Duck your head," Peter instructs.

Stiles does as told, feels his knee collide with the leather seat. He slides in, Peter pushing him gently along.

"It's nothing personal," Peter says. But before Stiles can say anything, he feels a prick in his neck. Minutes later, his eyes are drooping shut.

**(")**

"Hey. Hey, wake up!"

Slap.

"Wake up!"

Slap.

Stiles's eyelids slowly begin to open. His cheeks sting. The first thing he notices is that he can finally see. The second thing he notices is that he's lying down on a cold concrete ground instead of leather. He slowly sits up, his eyes taking in the brick walls, and the steel door keeping him in.

He can hear the distant sound of loud cheering.

He's finally here. He's finally at the arena.

"Ow," Stiles then says, touching his cheeks. He's pretty certain that if he looked in a mirror his cheeks would be red right about now. His hands then move to the bruise on his left eye.

"Sorry about that," an unfamiliar voice suddenly says. Stiles eyes flicker to who apparently is his cellmate.

Stiles shrugs, "I've had worse."

Silence then, "How long have I been out?"

This time it's his new cellmate's turn to shrug.

"Beats me. All I know is that there've been five victors since they threw you in here. So I'd say maybe for about two hours."

The word _victor_ rings in Stiles's ears.

Stiles just nods. Still feeling somewhat drowsy he drags himself all the way to the far wall, opposite his cell mate. He leans against the brick wall, lifting his legs until his knees are resting against his chest.

He then turns to stare at his new cell mate with half lidded eyes. Due to the somewhat bad lighting Stiles can't properly make out his cell mate's profile. But he can make out the toned arms, black hair, the ripped, dirty shirt, the bare feet and sweats.

His eyes are closed.

"If you're going to just stare at me, at least tell me your name," his cell mate says, eyes still closed. Stiles doesn't bother looking startled.

"Stiles Stilinski," Stiles says after clearing his throat.

"Pleased to meet you Stiles. The names Danny. Danny Mahealani."

"How long have you been here…Danny?" Stiles asks, curiously.

Danny snorts before responding.

"A little over a month. 36 days to be exact. You see over there," Danny says, gesturing towards the wall. Stiles follows his line of vision, sees lines upon lines on the wall. Stiles squints.

"Is that…" he trails off, can't bring himself to finish his question.

"My blood? Yeah. I've been counting down the days. They only let me out to piss. I guess I should be grateful that they're not making me piss inside of a cup," Danny snorts. Stiles remains silent. "36 days ago they took me from my home, drugged me and brought me here."

Stiles doesn't respond. Mulling his words over and over in his head. 36 days. He hopes they don't keep him in here that long. He can't afford to waste time.

"What about you?" Danny asks, interrupting Stiles from his thoughts. Stiles lifts his head.

"Huh?"

Even though it's dark Stiles is pretty sure Danny's smiling.

"How did you end up here?"

Stiles shrugs.

"Pretty much the way you did," he lies. "I guess my dad will be coming back to an empty home." His voice cracks at the end of that sentence. He ignores the sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach, the same feeling he gets whenever he thinks about his dad.

"This sucks huh?" Danny asks.

Stiles snorts.

"Understatement of the century," he mutters. Danny laughs. Stiles decides that he has a nice laugh. His laughter comes to an abrupt halt thought when the door bangs open, barely enough to let them escape though. Not that Stiles was thinking of ways to escape, he was just where he wanted to be.

Two trays slide into the cell.

"Eat up," a gruff voice on the other side says before slamming the door shut.

"Dinner time apparently," Danny says, dragging one of the trays before digging in with his bare hands. Stiles just stares.

Danny pauses, giving Stiles a wry smile.

"Relax, it's not poisoned," Danny says as if reading his mind. "Go ahead. Eat. The food's actually pretty good. I always treat each meal as if it's my last. Go on."

Giving Danny one last look Stiles grabs the tray. Macaroni, green beans and chicken.

"They could've at least given us something to drink," Stiles says dryly before grabbing a green bean and biting into it.

Instead of eating it with his bare hands he grabs the fork lying beside the plate before digging in. Trying his best to eat with the chains wrapped around his wrist. It's silent for a while, just the sound of chewing and the occasional plate scraping. Stiles decides that the food is actually pretty good given the circumstances.

"Are you scared?" Stiles asks, finally breaking the silence, his plate licked clean. From the looks of it so is Dannys'.

Danny looks up, but doesn't say anything.

"When they finally let you out to fight out there?"

"Sure. But there's no going back now is there?" Danny asks, before he moves to lay down, closing his eyes.

"Guess not," Stiles says, eyeing Danny.

"Didn't anybody tell you that eating right before going to bed makes you gain weight?" Stiles then asks, the question popping into his head at the most random time.

With his eyes closed Danny smiles.

"Gaining weight is the least of my worries Stilinski," Danny says, marking the end of conversation.

After counting backwards from 1000, Stiles eyes droop shut. His world fading to black.

**(")**

On day three they finally let Danny out. His 39th day imprisoned. And his last day. As Danny's being escorted out of the cells, Stiles can still hear the distant sounds of cheering.

Stiles offers him a whisper of good luck, briefly wondering if he'll ever see him again.

On day five he gets a new cell mate. Stiles keeps to himself. His new cell mate keeps to himself. Of course not for the lack of trying on Stiles's part. But his new cell mate turns out to not exactly be friendly. Not like Danny anyways.

On day seven they finally let him out. He salutes his new cell mate, who just stares at him with a blank expression before Stiles is being manhandled out of the cell by two guards. Werewolves.

They lead him past rows and rows of cells and prisoners held within. Stiles continues to stare straight ahead, ignoring the insistent banging and the sneers. One prisoner even spits on him. Stiles tries not to flinch. He can't even move his hands to wipe the disgusting gunk off his face.

Some hands reach out, trying to grab a hold of him as if he can somehow help them. Some even have the audacity to grab at the guards, which big mistake buddy. Stiles has to try not wince when he hears the sound of bones cracking and blood curdling screams.

Minutes later they're out of arms length of the prisoners, walking down a dimly lit hallway. The farther they get down the hall he can hear the sound of cheering. This is it.

They stop in front of a pair of steel doors, separating him from the arena. He can hear the loud cheering, the banging, and the cries. Stiles takes a deep breath, willing his heart beat to steady.

Both guards open the door on each side, gesturing for Stiles to enter into the arena. Stiles rapidly blinks his eyes at the sudden flash of light. He stops, stumbling over his feet. It isn't long before the guards roughly push him forward.

He's in the arena. Adjusting to the lighting, he first takes in the size of the crowd. If the rumors are true thousands have apparently come to watch. They're all stomping, bellowing out words but because of all the noise makes it impossible for Stiles to pick out each and every word.

He knows that the majority of the people in the stands are werewolves coming to see two humans fight barbarically. Whoever wins becomes slave to the highest bidder. Whoever loses dies a horrible cold blooded death.

It's not Stiles's time to die.

"Such a pretty human," a voice says in the crowd, grabbing for him.

"Looks weak to me," another voice says.

"Poor little boy," a third voice says, before letting out a gut wrenching cackle.

Stiles tries not to cringe. He's stares straight ahead, at the middle of the arena where the cage is located. Fortunately a large enough cage to fit about fifty people inside with stainless steel bars.

There's no sign of his opponent yet. His eyes aimlessly continue to wander around the huge arena, watching all the spectators in the stands before they zero in on a particular spot. The V.I.P. box where all the werewolves who think they're important sit, watching on with what can only be labeled as bored expressions.

Stiles first zeros in on the Hale matriarch and patriarch, sitting stiffly as they evaluate the stands calculatingly. Stiles watches the thin press of Talia's mouth as if she's unimpressed by it all, as if she's rather be anywhere but here.

Stiles's blood rises, boiling with such contempt, such hatred it literally starts making him feel sick. But even so, he knows he has to impress them, if he's not too late.

Stiles quickly averts his gaze, not wanting to be caught staring. He then stiffens when the cheering becomes a hundred times more louder if that's even possible. It takes him a few minutes to realize why, on the opposite side of the arena a man is being led by four guards rather than two.

Stiles eyes his opponent, who looks taller and twice his size. Everything about the man is big, his arms, his neck, his head, his legs. The fact that the man's clothes barely fit him would be comical if this man wasn't here to kill him. Not that Stiles would let that happen. He's dealt with far worse thank you very much.

"That human boy doesn't stand a chance," a voice reaches Stiles ears just as Stiles is being prodded to move further towards the fighting cage. His eyes remain on the hulk of a man, who's eyeing him just as much.

The man's lips twist into a bitter smile. He then lifts his chained hands; the guards react slightly before realizing he isn't doing any harm, giving a slicing motion to his neck.

Stiles just arches an eyebrow to show he isn't intimidated. He has to fight the urge not to scoff. Stiles then startles, flinching when movement from the cage catches his eye.

The middle of the cage splits open. The crowd goes wild. A wide eyed looking dude dressed in a sharp suit appears, microphone in hand, giving the crowd a Cheshire cat like grin.

"LADIES AND GENTS, WELCOME TO THE ARENA!" the man bellows, pumping his fist as the crowd continues to go wild. It doesn't take long for Stiles to realize that the man's human among the den of werewolves. His voice then simmers down as he continues to speak. "A place where bones break, blood spills and one victor is crowned."

It takes him another few seconds to realize that the man's a human slave by the silver collar around his neck. After that he drowns out the rest of the man's voice, which isn't hard considering the loud raucous cheering.

Cogs are turning inside his head, as he assesses his opponent. Trying to pinpoint his weakness, the best way to hit him where it hurts. He's pretty sure that the majority of the onlookers might think that his opponent has a 90% chance of winning and he only 10% given the differences in their size.

He can already imagine the bets pooling in. His lips twitch at the thought. They're all werewolves; it's only natural to think that the person with obvious brute force would come out on top.

_It's time to prove them wrong, _he thinks as he watches the chains wrapped around his wrist loosen and clatter onto the ground before he's being pushed into the cage. Now it's just him and the big guy.

Stiles rolls his neck and arms, dancing on the balls of his feet a few times. He then makes a come hither gesture to the man, grinning widely.

"Come on big boy, let's see what you got."

* * *

**TBC?**

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**Author's Note:** _Did you guys like it?! Is it worth for me to continue? Let me know what you think! Thanks for reading! :D _


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